What if who you thought you were was only a drop in the ocean of time?
What if your existence was fated to follow a predestined path?
And you hated that path. And you fought fate.
Katya Luschkova longs to break free from the suffocating hold of he...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
My annoyance evaporated into a strange nervous giddiness. I wasn't prepared for a face to face with his majesty today. My heart was already screaming and I was only standing outside his doors —ahem, very large double doors. But what was I to do? It's not like I could leave the tray with a sticky note. So I knocked, hoping that I could just hand the meal over and be gone. I waited a minute, two. There was no answer. And just when I thought I could high-tail it out of there, I heard the weirdest noise from the other side of the door. It sounded like a mew. And then another, followed by scratching. Leaning into the door, I pressed my ear against the cool dark wood and waited. The next thing I heard was a thump. I pressed my ear closer. What the hell was he doing in there? And with whom?
His incredulous voice startled me. "What are you doing?" Tightening my grip on the tray after almost dropping it, I spun to see Dmitri at the top of the stairs. His befuddled expression rendered me speechless. I felt the burn on my face and knew I'd turned red.
"There were strange noises so I-I..." I sighed as he stepped closer.
Those molten-gold eyes bore into me for a moment before he finally keyed the door and pushed it open. To both our surprise, a blob of fur cannoned out the door as soon as it was opened, running down the stairs as it wailed. I stared after it with wide eyes. Well, that was definitely not what I expected. My beet-red face could tell you what I was expecting.
Dmitri continued as if nothing had happened. "Come in."
"You were keeping a cat prisoner?" I wondered out loud as I followed him inside. I couldn't be the only one who thought a cat in a Wolfe Pack House was weird. I'd ask Jessamy later.
He tossed his keys onto the nearest table and immediately pulled off his sweater, tossing that on a chair as he passed. I admired the view as he disappeared into what I assumed was his bedroom.
His room was like a studio apartment —spacious and functional. The living area sat in the middle, a level lower than the rest of the room. From the living room you could step up in many directions, either to his bedroom, the kitchen/dining area, and a neat office space. Figuring I better do something other than admire his digs, I took the tray over to his dining table and placed it neatly where I guessed he sat.
It then occurred to me —he had a kitchen! So why was he ordering from downstairs?"
"Why not when I can have someone else do it for me?" He appeared in the living room, hair wet and clothes changed.
"Why have a kitchen at all then?" I countered, realizing only afterward that I hadn't spoken my first thought out loud. How the hell had he known what I was thinking?
He shrugged. "Your face tells. You should really work on that."
My mouth fell open and I shook my head, mildly freaked out. He came over, pulled off the cover from the tray before walking back with it to a chair. He ate with a single-minded focus —fast. I remained standing at my place at the table, unsure of what to do. He hadn't formally dismissed me yet.
